VIII.

[Sidenote: The father of the maiden does not fully understand her. Mary, he says, is the queen of heaven. No one is able to remove the crown from her.] “Blysful,” q{uod} I, “may þys be trwe, Dyspleseȝ not if I speke erro{ur}; Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe, Þ{a}t al þys worlde schal do hono{ur}? 424 We leuen on marye þat grace of grewe, Þat ber a barne of vyrgyn flo{ur}, Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remwe, Bot ho hir passed i{n} su{m} fauo{ur}? 428 Now for synglerty o hyr douso{ur}, We calle hyr fenyx of arraby, Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor, Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.” 432

[Sidenote: [Fol. 45a.]] [Sidenote: The maiden addresses the Virgin. She then explains to her father that each has his place in heaven.] “Cortayse quen” þe{n}ne s[a]yde þat gaye, Knelande to grou{n}de, folde vp hyr face, “Makeleȝ moder & myryest may, Blessed bygy{n}ner[16] of vch a grace!” 436 Þe{n}ne ros ho vp & con restay, & speke me towarde i{n} þat space: “S{ir} fele here porchaseȝ & fongeȝ pray Bot supplantoreȝ none w{i}t{h}-i{n}ne þys place; 440 Þat emp{er}ise al heue{n}ȝ hatȝ, & vrþe & helle i{n} her bayly; Of erytage ȝet non wyl ho chace, For ho is quen of cortaysye. 444

[Sidenote 16: MS. reads _bȳgyner_.]

[Sidenote: The court of God has a property in its own being. Each one in it is a king or queen. The mother of Christ holds the chief place.] The co{ur}t of þe kyndom of god alyue, Hatȝ a p{ro}perty i{n} hyt self bey{n}g; Alle þat may þer-i{n}ne aryue Of alle þe reme is quen oþ{er} ky{n}g, 448 & neu{er} oþ{er} ȝet schal depryue, Bot vchon fayn of oþ{er}eȝ hafy{n}g, & wolde her corou{n}eȝ wern worþe þo fyue, If possyble were her mendy{n}g. 452 Bot my lady of quom Iesu con spry{n}g, Ho haldeȝ þe empyre ou{er} v{us} ful hyȝe, & þat dyspleseȝ non of oure gy{n}g, For ho is quene of cortaysye. 456

[Sidenote: We are all members of Christ’s body. Look that each limb be perfect.] Of co{ur}taysye, as saytȝ say{n}t poule, Al arn we me{m}breȝ of ih{es}u kryst, As heued & arme & legg & naule, Temen to hys body ful trwe & t[r]yste; 460 Ryȝt so is vch a krysten sawle, A longande lym to þe mayster of myste; Þe{n}ne loke what hate oþ{er} any gawle, Is tached oþ{er} tyȝed þy ly{m}meȝ by-twyste, 464 Þy heued hatȝ nauþer greme ne gryste, On arme oþ{er} fynger, þaȝ þ{o}u ber byȝe; So fare we alle wyth luf & lyste, To ky{n}g & quene by cortaysye.” 468

[Sidenote: [Fol. 45b.]] [Sidenote: The father replies that he cannot understand how his pearl can be a queen. He desires to know what greater honour she can have.] “Cortayse,” q{uod} I, “I leue & charyte grete be yow amo{n}g, Bot my speche þat yow ne greue, . . . . . 472 Þy self in heuen ou{er} hyȝ þ{o}u heue, To make þe quen þat watȝ so ȝonge, What more-hond moȝte he acheue Þat hade endured i{n} worlde stronge, 476 & lyued i{n} penau{n}ce hys lyueȝ longe, W{i}t{h} bodyly bale hy{m} blysse to byye? What more worschyp moȝt ho fonge, Þen corou{n}de be ky{n}g by cortayse? 480

[Headnote: THE PARABLE OF THE LABOURERS IN THE VINEYARD.]